On sunny noons upon the deck’s smooth face, Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace; Or, o’er the stern reclining, watch below The foaming wake far widening as we go. On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave, How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave! The dripping sailor on the reeling mast Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past. Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 1852 * * * * * The mighty ocean rolls and raves, To part us with its angry waves; But arch on arch from shore to shore, In a vast fabric reaching o’er, With careful labours daily wrought By steady hope and tender thought, The wide and weltering waste above— Our hearts have bridged it with their love. There fond anticipations fly To rear the growing structure high Dear memories upon either side Combine to make it large and wide. There, happy fancies day by day, New courses sedulously lay; There soft solicitudes, sweet fears, And doubts accumulate, and tears. While the pure purpose of the soul, To form of many parts a whole, To make them strong and hold them true, From end to end, is carried through. Then when the waters war between, Upon the masonry unseen, Secure and swift, from shore to shore, With silent footfall travelling o’er, Our sundered spirits come and go, Hither and thither, to and fro, Pass and repass, now linger near, Now part, anew to reappear. With motions of a glad surprise, We meet each other’s wondering eyes, At work, at play, when people talk, And when we sleep, and when we walk. Each dawning day my eyelids see You come, methinks, across to me, And I, at every hour anew, Could dream I travelled o’er to you. 1853 * * * * * That out of sight is out of mind Is true of most we leave behind; It is not sure, nor can be true, My own and only love, of you. They were my friends, ’twas sad to part; Almost a tear began to start; But yet as things run on they find That out of sight is out of mind. For men, that will not idlers be, Must lend their hearts to things they see; And friends who leave them far behind, When out of sight are out of mind. I blame it not; I think that when The cold and silent meet again, Kind hearts will yet as erst be kind, ’Twas ‘out of sight,’ was ‘out of mind.’ I knew it when we parted, well, I knew it, but was loth to tell; I felt before, what now I find, That ‘out of sight’ is ‘out of mind.’ That friends, however friends they were, Still deal with things as things occur, And that, excepting for the blind, What’s out of sight is out of mind.